O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.

Mercutio: "If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.